


Cthulhu's Sexquest

by Karin Yukimura (Karinpon)



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Cthulhu Saves the World
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal, Anal Sex, Anilingus, Blood, Breathplay, Bukkake, Coprophagia, Coprophilia, Cthulhu Mythos, Dark Comedy, Double Anal Penetration, Double Oral Penetration, Double Vaginal Penetration, F/M, Fun, Guro, Insanity, Libertinism, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Salirophilia, Scat, Tentacles, Transvestite, Vaginal, Vaginal Sex, mysophilia, penis - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:45:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2483528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karinpon/pseuds/Karin%20Yukimura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After rising, then being defeated and sapped of his power, Cthulhu goes on a reluctant quest to turn four heroines into sex slaves, in order that he may regain his lost powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wherein the Priest of R’lyeh loses his powers and is compelled by a perverse narrator to sexually enslave four heroines in order to regain them, then meets his first challenge.

Our sexy hero, Cthulhu, awoke on a beach after being defeated in battle by a brave wizard, who was there to subdue him that earlier time when he awoke much more powerful.

“Fhtagn!” he cursed, getting to his clawed feet. “What just happened? Why am I so small?”

You were defeated in battle by a brave wizard, as I said. As a result, you have lost your powers, and there is only one way to regain them so that you may again win the world’s worship and cast it into madness and worshipful anarchy.

“How?!”

The one way is this: to find four heroines and fuck them silly, thus winning their eternal slutty devotion. Your many long, prehensile penises will uncoil and strain to escape the breechclout with which you have been fitted when you near the heroic maidens which the Outer Gods have randomly selected for you, and this is how you will know whom to approach with your detestable groping paws.

“I don’t want to soil myself with the touch of a human’s insides!” Cthulhu protested.

Too bad! It is the only way.

Glancing scornfully into the bright blue cloudless sky, Cthulhu began to walk along the beach, his facial feelers writhing with indignation. It was not long before he came upon a fair—by human standards—maiden with long, blue hair, and a starfish in her hair. She wore some red outfit which had been ripped to shreds in many undoubtedly fierce fights. It appeared that she was in the middle of her last, for two green slime-creatures surmounted her struggling, half-nude body, trying to find her orifices.

Feeling suddenly alive in his breechclout, Cthulhu began to run on his awkward feet. “Halt!” And he drew a sword which he hadn’t before realised he possessed, and thrust this into the topmost slime-creature, which burst. The other, as it neared the maiden’s lower orifices, found itself squished in Cthulhu’s mighty fist.

“Blue-haired woman! Do you live?”

For all answer she rolled onto her back, then sat up and looked upon her rescuer with eyes full of awe. Yes, Cthulhu thought; I’ve still got it! But the pride he felt in his monstrousness lasted not long, for the woman then squealed: “My hero! Please ravish me now and make me your eternal sex slave!” She leaned back and spread out her legs, exposing her grotesque human sex. “My name is Umi, by the way.”

Dumbfounded and quite disgusted, but unable to keep his tentacular penises contained much longer, Cthulhu pulled aside the hideously bulging front of his breechclout, and let spill forth his ten terrifying organs, which rolled out onto the sand—that will be a nightmare trying to clean out, he thought—and flopped about, landing as if of their own volition on the maiden’s limbs and neck and breasts. She shrieked, and began to piss. This reaction disturbed Cthulhu, but he could not stop himself now.

All her extremities were restrained, each by a penis or two—I need not remind that they are very long and prehensile—and already two of the organs forced their way through the lips of her frightening pudendum, which was itself topped by a tuft of blue hair; and another squeezed itself into her anus. The pleasure hit Cthulhu suddenly and hard; it had been centuries since he’d last used a human body thus, and he’d forgot how it felt. In the past his organs had been bigger, and he’d used them to torture and inflict deeper madness on man and woman alike—but he did not remember it feeling this good then.

The woman gurgled, for his penis was constricting her neck dangerously; and something told him he’d lose any chance of regaining his powers if he killed a heroine, so, with an effort of will, he brought it under his control, and managed to loosen it. She coughed, gasped, and moaned; then, suddenly, she took into her mouth the organ which had so recently tried to strangle her. Yes, Cthulhu mused as he enjoyed the pleasurably disgusting feeling of his many penises coiling up and writhing inside the woman; madness was never so much inflicted upon a man as it was brought out from the mad depths of her psyche.

His excited penises oozed ichor from the pores along their lengths, which provided such lubrication that it was with ease now that two more wriggled each into Umi’s cunt and arsehole; another dove into her mouth, and the last remained tightened round one of her knees, though she had no intention of escaping. And several minutes of writhing and twisting later, with the organs in her throat pulling out at intervals that she might breathe, Cthulhu felt an intense heat well up inside his puny man-sized body.

Cthulhu’s orgasm pained him; his penises swelled as great gobs of goo travelled along their lengths. But it was worth it when they reached their termini, and Umi, visibly terrified, seemed to blow up as if with child before the viscous white foam that was Cthulhu’s semen began to gush out of her around his penises, which he quickly started to withdraw for fear lest she suffocate.

When they were all out, they shrank considerably, seeming to retreat into his body. He covered them again with his breechclout when he could, and watched the blue-haired woman get to her hands and knees and vomit up his seed, gasping now and again for air. This went on for a few minutes, ending with some coughing, and by then Cthulhu’s organs stirred anew inside him. But he had some control now.

“Woman! Do you suffer overmuch?”

She turned her head and looked up at him. “I’m sore all over, but... that was great. Let’s do it again, my hero; but later, after I’ve rested.” Saying this, she staggered to her feet. Cthulhu’s seed still gushed from her orifices. “What is your name, anyway, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I am Cthulhu, the Priest of R’lyeh.”

She made her way over to him and threw her arms round his muscular—but pathetic because man-sized—waist. “I’ve heard stories of you,” she murmured. “You’re a god or something, right? You fuck like a god. I’ll happily worship Lord Cthulhu, the god of sex.”

“I’m not the god of sex! Well, whatever; one down, three to go. Say, narrator, do I have to take her with me?”

Yes.

“Fhtagn!”

And so Umi retrieved her sharp trident from the edge of the water, and followed Cthulhu wherever the pestilent plot seemed to pull him, though she was pretty much entirely naked now apart from her boots; she didn’t care, so long as she could stay by the side of her saviour and sex-god.


	2. Wherein Cthulhu and Umi slay two adventurers and drive their female cleric to madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags I will have to add to the story because of this chapter: scat, rape/non-con. Consider this fair warning!

On an errand given by the Church of Centuried Fatherly Wisdom which entailed banishing evil from the world, three righteous adventurers descended a mountain, vanquishing this and that so-ugly-it-must-be-evil creature on the way. They were: a blonde knight, clumsy but driven; a hooded thief, sneaky but of poor constitution; and a curvaceous female cleric named Elonalina, whose head of straightish purple hair flowed down to her buttocks and had a messy fringe cut to frame her beautiful face. Elonalina donned a golden circlet with turquoise ornamentation, and a green silken robe with gold-coloured trimming, girdled with a leathern belt at her waist and open on both lower sides to expose her strong, supple legs which were clad in grey tights.

She also wore iron arm braces and leathern boots, which constituted all her armour; and carried a big stick, which I guess was a stave or something. She and Cthulhu laid eyes on each other almost simultaneously. The imposing—but far less so than he used to be—squid-dragon-man was a little ways down the mountain pass, and had at his side an almost entirely nude crazy-looking woman who held a dangerous weapon. If that duo was not evil, thought the cleric—then what was?

“Stop, travellers!” yelled the cleric’s knightly companion at them. They did not stop. They seemed to be heading straight for Elonalina, in fact. So the knight drew his sword, and the thief drew his daggers, and Elonalina held her stick out in front of her.

Cthulhu’s penises detected another fated sex-slave in the cleric, but the men were in his way. He, too, drew his sword, and said to Umi, “You impale the little hooded guy; I will destroy the stupid thick-necked one holding up a sword.”

Umi nodded, and charged with her trident. Cthulhu wondered whether such a reckless mode of fighting came from her utter devotion to him, or was inborn. At any rate, the little hooded guy’s entrails were held up on a fork just after he’d started to come down some steps crudely wrought in the pass, and his life left him in rushing red rivers.

“Foul beasts!” yelled the knight, who may not have had any other manner of speaking to anyone. “Your shameless evil knows no bounds!” And he leapt at Umi with his sword held high for a heavenly stroke of ultimate vanquishment—but Cthulhu stepped in and parried, and Umi threw the hooded man off her trident. Now it was two against two, or two against one if the useless cleric was ignored.

Elonalina got her magic ready, drawing runes in the air by waving her stick, but by the time she finished the knight’s head rolled down the mountain. The marauders came for her unimpeded. “Back! Away!” she cried, waving her stick now in no magical manner. Cthulhu took it in his slimy paw and threw it down after the knight’s head.

Umi had gone up, blocking the cleric’s only means of escape unless she should hurl herself off the mountain—Cthulhu had told Umi all about his inane quest, and she was happy to coöperate. His breechclout bulged most horrifically, and he pulled the front aside to let out his nightmare penises, which flailed in the air before the helpless cleric.

“W-what are those?” cried Elonalina. “Just kill me already!”

“Normally I’d be happy to oblige,” grumbled Cthulhu. “Normally, a human is like an insect to me, except occasionally more useful—but the Outer Gods have bequeathed upon me a cruel task. Cruel for me. You humans seem to love it.” His penises suddenly enwrapped the cleric’s waist and two ankles, pulling her feet out from under her, lifting her up. She clutched at the oozing, elongated shaft which encircled her waist, but she could not get a good grip on it, and it was stronger than her puny human arms anyway.

Now one of the organs brushed her cheeks, leaving a trail of slime. Elonalina found its smell repulsive, for it was the odour of aeon-forgotten R’lyeh, who had risen like a rotting corpse heaved out of the water; and was not a pleasant thing for a man to smell. But she did not then open her mouth for protest, because she felt such an opening would quickly have been filled by the noxious appendage; and she tried with all her might to bring her knees together as more of them snaked under her robe, but it was all for naught.

Three found their way between her thighs, two proceeding to curl about those thighs, to hold them apart, while the middle one went straight for her shameful human sex, prodding the vulva through its thin covering of silk, undulating and forcing its way by slow degrees inside. Elonalina could not resist to shriek from terror, but none with any interest in saving her could hear her on this mountain, and she immediately regretted opening her mouth, for the expected thing happened: an inhuman penis gagged her.

“Don’t give them all to her!” Umi said, throwing down her trident. “I want one inside me while I watch...”

Reluctantly Cthulhu granted her request, feeling it imperative to satisfy his sex-slaves—though it did bring him to wonder just who was the slave—and he sent forth a spare one of his terrible organs between Umi’s fingers, which were spreading her cunt-lips wide open. When it was inside her, she pissed again; Cthulhu hadn’t expected that to happen a second time, but now he knew to expect it a third, fourth, and fifth time, if he took so long to complete his quest.

Silk ripped, weakened as it had been by the ichor which oozed from the pores of all Cthulhu’s penises, which same substance let him slip easily inside Elonalina. She wailed, or tried her best to while her throat tightly gripped another of his muscular, twitching appendages. One more organ forced its way in beside the one in her cunt, and Cthulhu’s last began pressing at the silk barrier to her anus. It was necessary, by his reckoning, to fill all the obvious holes; but he did not know that what had so pleased Umi would not be as well-received by most females.

When the appendage quitted her throat that she might breathe, it slipped out of her mouth, and she gasped, whimpered, and would not open up again even at the shock of having her rectum suddenly breached. She writhed in pain and shame and showed no pleasure. This displeased Cthulhu and made him doubt the prospect of finishing his quest, wherefore he withdrew from her other orifices and, still holding her up by the appendages round her waist and thighs, stepped forward to get a closer look. 

She watched him briefly with terror stark on her face, which also became red as she shut her eyes tight and something soft was heard to fall lifeless to the earth beneath her. Cthulhu’s gaze followed the sound, and came upon an oblong piece of human excrement. “For all man’s pretences,” said Cthulhu, “he is still just a lowly animal with a belly full of curled up viscera working ceaselessly to turn food into shit. Is that all you have... what’s your name?”

Elonalina would not tell either of those things, and was glad to have enough control to hold in the rest of what that evil penetration had called out. The mad nude woman with the blue hair, and the starfish in her hair, had seemed to collapse just behind her; she could not see, but heard such a thing, and more noisome things which followed.

“Umi! What are you doing?!” Cthulhu was aghast. She had flopped onto her abdomen, his penis still inside her, and taken hold of the poo, and begun to squish it against her mouth which chewed. She swallowed some bit of it before answering, her lower face soiled.

“Sorry, Lord Cthulhu. It is just a kind of mood you put me in—it makes the smell intoxicating, irresistible—I have to taste it, devour it, smear it all over...”

A chuckle resounded in his deformed, man-like breast. He envisaged his soon to come kingdom on earth; as of old, but with more people, many of whom, if fate is cruel—and it has often shown itself to be so—would behave as Umi now behaved when their feeble human minds attempted to conceive their restored ruler. As he meditated on this, Umi ate all the poo, and Cthulhu got the idea that he should see if she might serve to soften the girl from whom it came. “Do you want more, Umi? Why don’t you... try to tease it out with your tongue?”

“I haven’t thought of that before...” Umi, now squatting, positioned herself under the cleric’s anus, and looked up at it. Then she clutched those silk-clad buttocks in her hands and spread them apart, and put her face between them.

“Sick!” cried the cleric suddenly. “This is sickness!”

And Cthulhu retorted, “All is sickness that man does; eating each other’s excrement and seeking power, glory, immortality—all is equal in the eyes of Cthulhu, the once and future ruler of earth.” He tended to refer to himself in the third person when he felt very superior to the one he addressed; already he could feel his old godhood slowly returning.

“It’s coming out!” Umi exclaimed. Then she puckered her lips and sucked, passing a sizeable squishy log from the cleric’s anus to her mouth. It reached almost to her throat before it broke off, and she had to swallow without being able to taste its grainy blandness—but there was still the smell to excite her. “I want to shit too. Please fuck my bum till it comes out, Lord Cthulhu!”

He grumbled, and snaked one of his horrible penises into Umi’s arsehole, so now she had one there, and one in her cunt, undulating and moving to and fro automatically as she squatted under the cleric. And he asked the cleric, “Is that everything? Are you done feeding my other slave?”

“Other slave?! I am not your slave—I’ll die before serving a dark one like you!”

“No you won’t. I’ll keep you alive till I have your complete sexual devotion, as I have Umi’s.” Though he meant this, he was quite impatient with the woman, and he’d never read any of the lore which pertained to human sex—so how could he win the sexual devotion of one who was not already insane? He could not, he determined; so he’d make the cleric insane.

He pulled out of Umi’s anus suddenly and found that penis coated in mucus that was not his own, and stained in many places with shit; and this penis he moved to the cleric’s face, whose suddenly contorted features showed that the smell must be now doubly offensive. Not expecting her to open up for it, he sent another of his appendages round her neck, constricting it, making her involuntarily and uselessly gasp for air. Then his befouled penis plunged into her mouth, and he loosened his hold on her neck but did not let go completely.

Smartly, Umi walked over to the front of the cleric with a fist full of her own faeces, and ate the mass where she could be seen by the other woman to do so; she picked off chunks with her teeth and swallowed them, then smeared much of the rest over her breasts and abdomen, and she pissed again, though not as much as last time, while Cthulhu’s dreadful organ still swam inside her. “I think I’m going to faint from pleasure,” she said. “Why isn’t this church slut enjoying the attention she’s being paid by God?”

Letting a penis again fill each the cleric’s arse and cunt as she tearfully moaned her protests, Cthulhu said, “This woman serves another god, a false god created by men who imagined things in some orgy amid their deprivation.” He spoke clearly so that she could hear him—clearly as he could with his voice like bubbling mud. “It must be one of those so-called gods, for those are the only ones whose churches work in the daylight.”

In an effort to increase the heathen cleric’s sense of shame, Cthulhu’s detestable groping paw ripped the front of her robe, exposing her breasts; then he squeezed her left breast, which was not overlarge, and his claw left there five bleeding punctures. Since he was not a mammal, his interest in the things was but little, but his groping seemed to have some of the desired impact upon her psyche. She whimpered on, with his filthy penis wriggling from the tip of her tongue to the inside of her throat and back, and he removed his paw from her breast and watched for a moment the blood seep from where it had been.

He cast a sidelong glance at Umi, who had got hold of more shit from herself and nibbled it as she beheld the spectacle he’d made of the cleric; then he had another idea. “Umi, I want you to smear your excrement on this woman’s face and breasts. She must be driven to madness before long.”

And with an appropriately evil smirk Umi obliged, carrying her shit up to the cleric’s cheek and squishing it there, evoking a terrible muffled scream which redoubled as the brown slop was smeared downward, over the side of her neck, over her breasts, covering the drying rivulets of blood. Her task accomplished, Umi thought up her own ways to help induct the woman to Cthulhu’s budding sex-cult; she bit down on her right nipple and sucked. Umi sucked up the shit she’d so recently smeared there, and blood from the marks she’d made with her teeth.

Elonalina’s arms were not restrained through all this, yet the constant shock and shame, the extreme discomfort and the moments of pain—these things made her arms inert until it was too late, and her weak attempt to push the blue-haired madwoman off her befouled breast looked like a kind of lover’s caress. She understood: from the moment she laid eyes on this duo of devils, she’d been on a steep, muddy incline to absolute powerlessness. Worse still, her core had begun to radiate the heat of pleasure; this realisation multiplied her shame, and her manifold shame, she became certain, multiplied her pleasure. She wanted to die, and yet she wanted more of this mad feeling.

She would submit. Her hands began to stroke Umi’s neck, and fondle one of Umi’s shit-smeared breasts; and though her regular bouts of muffled screaming resumed as the foul organ plunged in and out of her throat, and two others heaved themselves to and fro in her gut and cunt, it took on quite a different timbre. She let go her hold of all that which fought against it, and consequently began to piss on Umi’s abdomen.

Cthulhu sensed the change with his many penises and with his eyes; the cleric had relaxed, and in her relaxation almost seemed to hunger. He retrieved himself from her mouth; and as she gasped lustily, he asked again, “What is your name, O slutty cleric?”

“N-name?” Elonalina said between gasps. “My name is Elona—” She cut herself off with a scream which held in it more of climax than of horror.

“That is a fine name for a human to have,” said Cthulhu. “Shorter than mine and easy to remember. Elona, cleric of a false god, do you hereby renounce said falsehood and swear to serve Cthulhu?”

“Yes, yes!” It seemed the only thing she could say at the moment.

“Then let this be your baptism!” He tightened his appendage around her neck and moved more fervently the two inside her. She croaked like a dying animal, then each of his horrifically elongated, oozing organs sent forth a great load of viscous, foamy slime. Umi screamed, for he was still in her cunt; and Elona only wheezed, for she could do no more when the slime expanded her belly. Even when Cthulhu loosened his grip on her neck, the first thing that came from her mouth was his seed, vomited up as it overflowed inside her.

Having finished his godly spend, Cthulhu lowered Elona to the ground and released her totally from the bindings which, also being his penises, had drivelled his seed all over her body. She twitched where she lay, and caught her breath as her eyes rolled back in her head. And Umi turned to him, letting his spent organ slip out. “I’m sure she’ll be fine after a little rest,” she said. “But where are we going? I’m thirsty. Miskatonia is the only town nearby, and it’s through that cave.” She pointed to a dark opening up the crude steps of the mountain pass, which opening he hadn’t before noticed.

Cthulhu, tireless as a god is wont to be, guessed he had no choice. “To Miskatonia, then. But you have to help me carry her through the cave.” He was glad he could see in the dark.

So Umi hooked her own arms under Elona’s, accepting that she’d be unable to take her trident along—she no longer felt the need for it, anyway—and Cthulhu, whose sword was secure in its scabbard which hung from his belt, took Elona's legs under his arms. And with the quietly gibbering cleric lifted between them, and Cthulhu at the lead, they progressed into the dark cave which stood between them and human civilisation.


	3. Wherein the town necromancer is happily spirited away by Cthulhu and his cohort.

Miskatonic University in this universe was a far cry from the one you may have heard of, being only a single large classroom with a great collection of tomes scattered about—but it had high aspirations, and extra employment opportunities involving the safeguarding of rare, valuable books from the grubby paws of younger students. This year’s guardian of the tomes appeared to be a well-endowed young lady whose jetty black hair grew down to her neck, and had a very long side-swept fringe. Because she captured the gaze of all male students, whatever their age, she appreciated her workstation between the ceiling-high bookcases; less than half the few people who went there, between the Occult Spirituality and Dead Languages sections, were male.

But she, whose name was October, had a reason besides maintaining her bodily integrity for shying away from people. That reason was her dreadful secret: she was a necromancer, come from a long line of necromancers; and necromancers had in recent times been vilified by the magical elite. She couldn’t understand why, for necromancy held life in higher regard than more popular strains of magic, such as pyromania—though she had some of that in her, too.

Sitting in her little chair between the bookcases, where chances were low but still existent that someone might see her, she often masturbated in her slutty clothes—this day they were a pair of black fishnet elbow-gloves, fingerless; a black choker; and a short, purple dress; while her feet were shod in leathern boots. She had no friends, not even sex-friends, so masturbation was the main thing that made life seem worth going on with to her, even more prioritised than secretly developing her abilities as a necromancer.

Maybe one day she could make a dead man love her.

Zombie orgies were a frequent fantasy, and the one she had now as she spread her legs and rubbed her clit, listening lest someone should come near enough, from just the right angle, to see her. But nobody did come, which was a mild disappointment as usual. And before long she had brought herself to the brink, and that was good enough for her; she needed the latrine, quick.

* * *

Cthulhu couldn’t believe the amount of clothing they expected women to wear these days. Service at Café Miskatonia had been withheld till he bought his two slaves decent clothing, and he’d had to go out and smash quite a few monsters for the gold to afford this. But he got his mug of milk in the end. Unfortunately, he’d only been able to afford one mug, and he’d had to share this with Umi and Elona if for nothing else than to keep them alive.

He convinced himself it was worth it. He’d have two, soon three, then four sex-slaves, and somehow that would definitely result in the full restoration of his power, and he’d rule the world with iron tentacles. He stirred in his breechclout, and knew he must leave the café; his next devotee was near.

Standing up from his seat, he said, “It is time to go.”

“I’m tired,” Umi complained. “But I guess... I can’t sleep here. Come on.” She pulled Elona’s arm after she’d got herself up.

Elonalina followed along. She was utterly resigned to her fate in their clutches. They’d killed her acquaintances, raped and humiliated her; then, as if they were the best of friends, they bought her new clothes and shared a drink. She’d fallen in with a crowd not only evil, but chaotic evil; and they’d already corrupted her, made her crave their malign mistreatment.

The street lights had begun to come on. For being an apparently important town in the region, Miskatonia was curiously small, and Cthulhu wondered at the odds of finding three of the four keys to his old godhood so close together in such a backwater. Not being one to look a gift-Shantak in the mouth, he merely followed the vague pull to which his monstrous penises were subjected, like the pull of the moon on the tide.

The pull led him and his followers to a long building with many doors and latticed openings in the tops of the doors through which emanated that odour, so familiar now, of human waste.

* * *

In the hovel where was her bed, October had a chamberpot, though that was far to walk; and if all she’d had to do was piss, she could have done it anywhere outdoors, provided she found a secret spot. But that wasn’t all she had to do, so by law she was brought to the stinky public latrine which authorities promised was hooked up to an efficient sanitation system, probably utilising the river for which the university was named. She’d chosen one of the least offensive-smelling compartments in which to evacuate her bowels, and now sat with her skirt hiked up to her waist upon a cold, stone bench with a hole to receive the product.

It came out slimily, though quickly, and some piss followed which she managed to direct toward her sphincter to wash that clean. The act made her horny again, or else stoked that horniness which was fairly constant for her; and she suspected that the omnipresent scent of strangers’ shit, and her own fresh contribution, compounded the problem. Maybe, she thought, she could reach climax in this sordid place, where the bolt on the door assured she’d not be bothered by anyone.

But she’d only just begun to reach between her legs when someone tried the door. Some indiscernible mass had blocked the light from the little opening in the top of the door. The handle began to rattle, and she thought of saying something, to let whoever know this place was occupied, but they seemed to have given up before she could find the words.

At least the handle had stopped rattling, but that curious obstacle to the light remained, seemed to be shifting in place till it shrank and light shone in over it.

Wood snapped—the lattice of the opening was being broken through—but by what?

There being no means of escape, she simply tensed up and stared, trying to make out what it was that seemed simultaneously to slither and thrust toward her, adding in a new, wild smell which equalled the strength of all others combined. It glistened in the feeble light, but was a very dark thing. Bravely, she grabbed hold of it with her hand, and found it to be clammy and slimy and muscular; she could not quite close her hand around it, and a little thrash was all it needed to escape her grasp. It moved down, and pressed against her abdomen, which was left bare by how high she’d hiked her dress.

“What are you?” she called out, keeping calm as anyone who’d accepted they had no control. It was definitely not human; it could only be some monstrous horror of the sort that abounded outside the city walls, or some appendage of one.

An expectedly inhuman voice responded from outside the door, “I am Cthulhu, the priest of R’lyeh which has risen.”

“Y-you don’t seem like the depictions...” The fat, snake-like appendage slipped along her sex; she clutched its neck with both her hands as it began to nuzzle her there, though she didn’t waste energy fighting it. What would be, would be—and it felt pretty good.

“That is true. When I rose at long last, some wizard attacked me while I was still groggy, and I lost my powers. Now I am on a quest to regain them, and you are one of the keys to this.”

She understood she must be under the assault of one of the famed tentacles of Cthulhu, with whose cult her family was on neutral terms. She spread her vulva with her fingers so it could enter her more easily; and as it did, she shuddered with pleasure wonderful and weird, and stammered, “How can I serve you, O great priest of R’lyeh?”

“It’s easier than you might think,” came the dark, gurgling reply. “You need only become my willing sex-slave.”

What had she to lose? Her sanity? She did not value that overmuch. “I’m willing,” she said, and got off the seat with his muscular phallic appendage buried in her cunt. Staggering a step and a half to the door, she undid the bolt, and nearly fell on her face as it swung open under her weight. The appendage jerked itself out of her suddenly, retreating through the opening in the top of the door; and when she righted herself, she turned to see its origin: that horrifying deity like an anthropoid dragon with a cuttlefish for a head.

It was definitely Cthulhu, though he had none of the immensity he was supposed to have, being only the size of a very large man. Being a direct aid to him, she thought, might even augment her necromantic abilities in some way. It was a moment before she noticed his company: two other young women, one in a short robe and one in a short dress, each with two tentacles writhing under her hem. October asked, “I’m not the first?”

And Cthulhu said, “You are the third. I need four heroines in total sexual devotion to me in order that I may attain my former status and rule the earth. You told me already you are willing—why so sure, so quick?”

“People shun me because of my magical line—or would if they knew. I am a necromancer, and nobody loves me. For the longest time, I’ve had to satisfy my urges with my own hand, but on the toilet you showed me that if I but serve the ends of dark gods, I could have all the pleasure I want, and I don’t even have to reanimate the dead. Please take me, Cthulhu!” She had nearly screamed. It was a bargain that touched her deeply.

“Very well!” he said. “Let’s seal the deal.” And he sent forth two of his horrifying penises.

October welcomed one into her snatch again, and felt such satisfaction as it entered that she didn’t mind the other that had gone past it and begun to intrude slimily upon her virgin anus. It broke through after a moment, and both her nether orifices were filled, each with an oozing python of a prick. She cried with joy; her legs could hardly support her now, so she sought for something to hold onto, and her hands found a pretty, purple-haired woman who was in similar throes.

Elonalina and October grappled with each other, hugged and groped each other, and soon their faces met, then their tongues; and they kissed wetly as they received the odious organs of Cthulhu. Umi also enjoyed herself; her greedy anus had admitted two of the things, and now another went in her cunt. And the priest of R’lyeh himself was nearly overcome with the sensations of his many tentacular penises twisting and turning and thrusting in the bowels of man.

Would he have the strength to attain the final key? The question crossed his mind, but he was a proud deposed god, and refused to let it bother him. For several more minutes he ravished the three women at once, and watched them play with each other as well.

The purple-haired woman had pulled down the top of October’s dress, letting out her ridiculously large tits; she squeezed and tugged and twisted them and broke off the kissing to say, “How did they get so big?”

“D-don’t do that! You’ll bruise them...”

“Just lucky? Or unlucky? I bet they’re a real burden.” Elonalina bit the nipple of one of the breasts she squeezed, and sucked.

Though October had protested such handling initially, it only augmented the pleasure she got from Cthulhu’s phallic tentacles deep inside her, which moved with increasing ferocity. And when suddenly she felt them expand, she cried, and so did the others who must’ve felt it too. Then came a flood of viscous foamy fluid which filled and stretched October’s belly, gushing out of her cunt around the tentacle; and the woman with face so near her breasts vomited hot white foam on them, and October could not hold back the same as it overflowed within her guts.

Never before had she felt so used, and she was glad it had been by no less than the priest of R’lyeh, who was widely worshipped as a god. She would worship him, too, even if it meant damning the world. Now she coughed, and caught her breath as the organs, lifeless, exited her body, followed by spurts of slime from her anus. She squatted, allowing it to flow out like impossibly thick piss, and watched as the purple-haired woman merely stood and let the stuff drivel over her thighs.

Umi, for her part, lay down and rested, as she often did when there was no shit to eat. And as Cthulhu pulled his breechclout over his rapidly shrinking and withdrawing penises, he noticed townsmen watching them from the shadows, some with their cocks out, and some with murderous rage in their eyes—but still bulges in their trousers. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

And so, pulling Umi to her feet, Cthulhu commanded Elona and October to run, and did the same. They ran out through Miskatonia’s south gate never to look back, while young men and middle-aged men chased Cthulhu’s lovely party with rigid penises, and also some torches and pitchforks.

“Dunwitch is this way,” October said between panting breaths. “Beyond the recently repaired bridge. Maybe the people there will be more understanding.”

Thus Cthulhu knew their next destination. Something sounded right about its name. What he could not guess was just how understanding the people of Dunwitch would be....


	4. A World is Won

When Cthulhu came to Dunwitch he was taken aback by what he saw: buildings half ruined; weeds overgrown and cracking through the stone pavement; automobiles abandoned hither and thither. But nothing would stop him advancing wherever the twinge in his groin led him, even if it was in an abominable state of chaos and disrepair.

“It’s not like I remember,” said October. “Where are all the people?” She languidly pulled the straps of her dress back over her shoulders, covering up.

And Cthulhu said, “All that matters is the fourth key. She must be somewhere around here.”

So they four walked, October, Elona, and Umi marvelling at the sordidness of the environs; Cthulhu single-mindedly pursuing his goal. The sun was coming out; they had been walking for a long time ere arrival at Dunwitch, but none of them felt any hunger or fatigue—maybe some thirst. It was not long before they heard the sounds.

Grunts, moans, screams, all weak through repetition; sounds of human ecstasy, and more noisome things that go along with. And they stumbled upon one of the sources right around a corner: a company of men in various states of undress with green-tinted skin, male and female, all fucking in a pile. Elona shrieked at the sight, more shocked from its suddenness than its nature, but a little from that too. Her outburst drew the dead stares of the sex-zombies, a couple of whom detached themselves from the pile and started to shamble toward Cthulhu and his party.

“Something tells me this isn’t the kind of welcome we want,” said Cthulhu. “Run!”

And they did.

“Hey, you people!” An old man stood in his doorway trying to get their attention. “In here, quick!”

He didn’t seem to be infected, so they listened to him and poured into his house. He barred his door then—the windows were already boarded up. The old man had a long, grizzled beard, and wore a boiler suit, and over that, some strange metallic knickers with a lock, possibly serving as a chastity belt.

“Have a seat—careful not to trip on the coffee table. I’ll get everyone some tea. We survivors gotta stick together.” The strange old fool shuffled into his kitchen, which was undivided from the lounge room where the girls sat on a couch.

“Just what is going on here?” Cthulhu enquired. He remained standing.

“It’s a long story,” the man said, “though I suppose its maddening repetitiousness lends itself to shortenin’. Here ya go.” He returned bearing a plate and placed this on the coffee table. On the plate were five little teacups full of steaming black fluid.

“I’d like mine with milk,” Cthulhu said.

“Milk’s all gone. Anyhow, it all started when that strange fellow calling himself only ‘the Narrator’ moved into Dunwitch. We shoulda known something was off with him, the way his name weren’t no real name, and his fancy-prancy scholarly airs—shoulda chased him out of town on the first day.” The old man had a seat in a nearby chair, also facing the coffee table, and took a cup of tea. “He locked himself away in the ol’ Waterly house, which he’d bought cheap off the council—it had a certain ‘haunted’ reputation, so none of the locals wanted it, but we also all feared tearing it down lest something not right should come outta the rubble. There’d been sightings round the place, you see, noises heard, when it was supposedly vacant.... So this new guy moves in, and after about a week, people start going missing, only to be found a few hours later with their skin all greenish, exposing themselves and making unwelcome sexual advances toward whoever was near.

“’Course we suspected Mister ‘Narrator’ had something to do with it right away, but it was only after the sixth person changed that we worked up enough courage and rage to go poundin’ on his door. When I say ‘we,’ I mean the townsfolk in general—I was wiser than countin’ myself among that doomed party. From what I hear from people who saw, they was received courteous-like into the house, and when they came out a few hours later, they’d changed same as the others.

“By that time, there were more of these sex-zombies than regular people like me, so us normal folk had a choice to make. We’d either run outta town, or stay behind and barricade our property, defending it to our last breath. I chose to be a real man, and here I am.” He slurped his lukewarm tea.

October squirmed in her seat. “So you’re saying we’re dealing with sex-crazed zombies, turned by a mysterious man in a creepy house? They... can’t pass the infection to others directly?”

“Now how’d I know that?” said the old man. “Alls I do know, is if you want some cheap property to call your own, and defend with tender lovin’ care against the hordes of sexual pervert zombies, Dunwitch has plenty available. Them who turned don’t need houses no more. Gotta do some repairs and barricading yourself, but—”

Cthulhu interrupted him. “We’re not looking to buy property, but there is something you can help us with: can you tell me which streets to take to the Waterly place?” He had to put a stop to whatever was going on, because his penises told him the fourth key was in this town, and he didn’t want her to turn out a zombie.

“Well, you look like you could put up a fight at least. Don’t fall for any of his hospitable shenanigans when you get there. Here, lemme fetch some paper and plume and I’ll draw ye a map with arrows showing where to go.” The infirm teetotaller stood up and went to retrieve the implements from another room. When he’d shuffled back to the coffee table, he laid a sheet of paper down beside the plate of teacups and began labouring at a childishly crude map. “I’m more a visually oriented explainer than one good with words.”

After some minutes, he had done with the task, and he sent Cthulhu and his lovely sex-slaves on their way with a barely decipherable work of amateur cartography, seeing them off with these words: “You kill that educated sumbitch and put a stop to this madness!”

* * *

By the time they found the two-storey Waterly house on the hill indicated by the map, the blue cloudless cheer of the sky above and behind it was lending their dark mission a palpable sense of irony. Even so, they pressed on. Cthulhu came up to the door and, rather than knocking, he thrust his mighty fist through the rotting wood, and used the handle on the other side to open it.

The Narrator came down the stair to greet them, as if expecting them. He was a wrinkled man, bespectacled and scrawny, wearing a powdered wig and women’s nightclothes. “I’ve been expecting you,” he stated the obvious.

Cthulhu drew his sword, ready for a fight. His penises sensed the presence of the fourth key in this house. “I don’t need to ask how you knew we were coming,” he said. “The fact you did, and your name, make it abundantly clear to me that you are at least partly responsible for all my recent misery and degradation. Have you any last words, pathetic human narrator?”

“Put that thing away; you can’t kill me yet. You are near to finishing your quest, great Cthulhu, and ruling again. You must hear what I am about to say.”

“I’m not letting my guard down, but go on.” Cthulhu thought, if his feelings were right, and the narrator wasn’t tricking him, he could kill the man without a fight soon enough.

“First, I will explain the mystery of the zombies and the reason you ostensibly came to this house. With Libertinism my motivation, I have dedicated long years of study to the dark arts, science, and unscience, in pursuit of my ultimate goal of turning everyone else into sexual perverts like myself. The vegetarian sex-zombies who now populate this town are the perfection of my technique—or almost; I’m still here working on transmissibility of the beautiful infection I have created, but—”

“Enough of your boasting,” Cthulhu sneered. “I am unimpressed with your work, and the only pleasure which I think it good to promote is that which induces people to serve me and sacrifice at my altar. I demand you take me to the final key to unlocking my old powers right now!”

Nodding slowly the Narrator said, “Follow me,” and, going to his dining table, pushed it out of the way to reveal a trap door. He rambled on as he pulled it open and led the party down a dark, stone stairway: “As I was saying, the sex-zombies outside are the near-perfection of my technique, but there were failures in previous places I’ve done my work... errors in my trials. Some of these I let run amok; most I put down with a revolver; and one, well, she was too dangerous to let go, and too beautiful to put down, so I kept her and took her with me wherever I went.”

They stepped into a cellar illumined by torches burning in wall sconces. A large purple rug covered the floor, and against the far wall lay a well-polished white coffin. Cthulhu felt irresistibly drawn toward the coffin, and filled with dread at what it must contain. Cruel pranks like this, he thought, would not be arranged by the Outer Gods without the sinisterly guiding humour of the crawling chaos, Nyarlathotep.

“That’s right, Cthulhu,” said the Narrator. “The final heroine who acts as a key to unlocking your powers lies sleeping in the white oblong box before you. By a strange twist of fate she also happens to be Molly, my creation. I am as much a victim of more powerful malign deities as you are. Please be gentle with her.”

Shuddering, Cthulhu mustered all his courage and dedication to finishing the quest and threw open the lid. The soundlessly sleeping beauty thereby revealed looked dead, and may well have been, but he knew better than to believe her truly so. She wore an orange dress, and had a head of shoulder-length, wavy yellow hair topped with two pointy ears like those of a grey cat; her skin was also grey, and from her mouth protruded two very sharp fangs. And though Cthulhu’s odious organs could now hardly be contained by his breechclout, he had to ask: “What... is she?”

To which the Narrator replied, “I’m glad you asked. Molly is my most fortuitous failure, being not quite vampire, wolf, zombie, or woman, but elegantly varying degrees of all four. I call her a Were-Zompire. Her lust knows no bounds, for blood and for pleasure.”

The creature’s ears twitched; her huge green eyes opened, and she sat up in her coffin and looked at Cthulhu directly, causing him to start. She said, with a strange lisp that would be attributed to her fangs, “You seem different from the other zombies...”

“I am not a zombie!” said he. “I am Cthulhu, priest of R’lyeh which has risen, and I have come to take your maidenhood and enslave you to my touch that I may rule once more.”

She giggled, and so did the Narrator who then said, “Molly is not a maiden, you soon shall see. But can you afford to be choosy? I look forward to watching from that chair over there.” He indicated a comfy-looking armchair in the corner and went to sit down. Suddenly Molly leapt out of the coffin. Standing lithe and tall by its side, she lifted the front of her dress to expose her sex, and Cthulhu got another start: she was male.

“It’s so big...” commented Elona.

“For a human boy, maybe!” Cthulhu pulled aside his breechclout letting his own atrocious appendages spill into the air between himself and Molly. “Cthulhu will not be deterred by such a pathetic implement. Prepare thyself.”

Molly’s penis twitched. “Yes, come get me!”

And Cthulhu’s like flying pythons fastened round her legs and insolent neck, restraining and strangling her, and a fourth curled up between her thighs to find her arsehole, which was not far below a devilish tail. She had unhanded her hem so she could grasp desperately at the slimy shaft that crushed her neck, tears welling in her eyes, tongue unrolling over the thing.

“Gentle!” the Narrator reminded. “She may be undead, but she’s not unbreakable!”

But the diminished great old one pushed bloodily into Molly’s rectum before loosening his stranglehold on her neck even just a little. Closing in, he found she was only a head shorter than he in his present condition, which was pretty tall for a human; and despite her obvious self-assurance when they met, her face now expressed an unambiguous fear for her unlife. With his loathsome groping paws he ripped open the front of her dress, exposing a flat, boyish breast—albeit one with puffy nipples—and that overlarge perky penis, which he with his hand gripped and pulled and twisted while his oozing instrument of evil wriggled into her bowels.

Molly had never taken anything so thick so deep; she felt the organ lashing her abdomen from the inside as it twisted and turned and thrust, and through all this, her cock throbbed cold and lifeless yet very alive in Cthulhu’s merciless grasp. Her hands now palpated her belly, anticipating that frightful bulge which every now and again they did feel. She panted, trembling with morbid pleasure, though her mouth was soon stopped by the intrusion of that appendage which lay coiled round her neck.

And she came, so very quickly, besliming Cthulhu’s hand and muscular arm.

Then he started to grow. As his taut muscular abdomen metamorphosed into a big barrel of flab, he knew his quest was completed, and everyone around him was in mortal danger. “Run!” he roared; and as a final show of mercy, he withdrew quick as he could his appendages from Molly’s throat and rectum lest she she suffocate or fly apart; already she moaned in agony, but he did not notice this for long.

Cthulhu’s head and winged upper body tore through the roof, as did his blubbery mass through the walls, and he was sure none had been able to escape uninjured—but what should he care? Now he towered over Dunwitch, a Great One again; remorse was no longer his prerogative. He steeled himself for the lumbering, lonely trek back to R’lyeh, which is risen.

Never again would a meddlesome human wizard catch him off-guard. He stretched his fat arms above his head in mixed triumph and anger. He walked.

* * *

Chaos. After all her years courting it, finally had it come to strike October down. But she was not dead; to her pleasant surprise, the walls had broken quicker than her body could. She staggered to her feet, and looked around. The sex-zombies had already begun to home in, and she supposed things hadn’t turned out so bad after all. She called out to the others.

“Elona! Umi! Is anyone...”

Her gaze had fallen on Umi, nearby, her face buried in Molly’s buttocks, a zombie fucking away at her rear. The Were-Zompire seemed to be enjoying Umi’s mouth, and panted, stroking her(his? its?) cock. October started walking toward them when Elona bumped into her and gripped her arm.

“We’re free,” Elona whispered harshly. “Let’s get away from this place, these people...”

“And go where?”

Silence.

October moved forward, dragging the cleric along. “There’s nothing for us to return to, really, is there? The world should be under Lord Cthulhu’s thumb soon, and it’s all thanks to us, to our shameless self-sacrifices. Nothing is sacred any more—the closest thing, pleasure.”

And to this Elonalina could think of no retort. A quick scan of her surroundings confirmed sex-zombies on all sides, probably drawn by the commotion. It didn’t matter what she did now. She derived a little comfort from the fact.

**Author's Note:**

> This was kind of an experiment for my own amusement after playing through Cthulhu Saves the World twice and being mildly disappointed to not find any perverted fan-art.


End file.
